What Came Before
by dupton
Summary: CANCELLED There's Abby, Carter, Luka... and her life turns upside down as she tries to cope with them both, as well as herself. Set midSeason 9.
1. Abby: Snow Always Came, Of Course

**Details:** _Set in Season 9, at least post- _Hindsight_, but not anywhere specific._

**Rating:** _Currently PG, but open to change._

**A/N:** _This just came to me. The idea, the story… it just came. I'm not sure where from. Review, if you're so inclined… they would be more likely to encourage me. Constructive criticism is encouraged, but no flames. If I get enough reviews to encourage me, I'll continue. If I don't, I won't. That's how I work._

* * *

WHAT CAME BEFORE

Abby: Snow Always Came, Of Course

* * *

It was summer. The glowing sun painted a multi-colored picture over the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. It was certainly a contrast to just a few months ago, when snow had piled up so high that your head could barely see above it. It was unreal. I'd never seen snow that high before. Snow; snow always came, of course. It was part of living in Chicago. Cold, wintry, rainy Chicago.

I heard the sound of sirens approaching and I stood, throwing the empty coffee cup into the trashcan beside me and rising from the bench. I snatched the gloves from the wood and pull them on, watching the ambulance draw into the bay. I walk over, ready for the barrage of facts from the paramedics. They annoyed me sometimes, I admit, but I knew they were just doing their job. I had no doubt they were often as tired as I was.

We wheel the gurney up to the doors, which steam open as we get within range, and run into the ER. I see Carter rush over, his face drawn. He seems tired. He is tired.

"What've we got?"

His voice isn't particularly concerned, or distressed; but what did I expect? He was simply doing his job. Very well, I might add; but maybe that's my biased perspective speaking.

I listen to a paramedic repeat what he had just told me, and let in wash over me, the facts and figures already lodged in my mind. I've done this job long enough; I've learnt how to get things like that stuck in my head the minute I hear them.

We push the gurney into Trauma One, and Chuny and Chen have joined us, already taking orders from Carter as we transfer the man onto the bed. I watch the paramedics rush out again, wheeling the gurney quickly away, ready to race out to another patient. I paused to wonder who would be next: a diabetic man collapsed on the floor? A woman beaten by an abusive husband? A kid, hit by a speeding car?

I force myself to stop thinking about what could be, and focus on what is. Carter's already spinning orders out to Chuny as Chen intubates the man, machines beeping behind him already. I'm hearing all the words, all the noises, and letting them rest in my head. That was the way it worked. If you didn't know the facts, you weren't cut out for this. It was as simple as that.

Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes things are so black and white that the choice is obvious; and when you've made it, it seems there was little point in ever even thinking about it at all. But sometimes, life is complicated. Life is color. A mixture of blues, reds, greens, oranges… all those colors of the rainbow. And it wasn't clear. The choice was difficult. Sometimes the options were hard to see too.

At this point in my life, I was happy. Yes, my brother had shut me out of his life, and my mother had gone with him; lost in their own little bi-polar world; but I had Carter.

John. Carter was a force of habit. I still called him that, once in a while. It hadn't been that long, and I still felt oddly like I was settling into the relationship. I called him John more and more now. It was his name. At work, you always called him Carter, because it's just Doctor Carter. Only without the doctor part.

"Ca- John," I say, correcting myself in time, hoping no one notices my slip. "What do you want?"

He looks up at me, stethoscope still stuck into his ears, and frowns. "Er… head CT, lytes, and a tox screen," he says, and I nod, heading out to admit to order the above. Frank glances at me from his computer screen, donut in one hand, clicking the mouse with the other. The noise in the hospital in almost deafening, but I guess I've learnt to live with it by now. I hear one particularly whiney patient moan that they're burning up from the heat, and suddenly realize I agree- it's boiling hot in here. I pull at my shirt, trying to get air onto my skin, and see Luka glance at me from his position next to a bed.

I smile at him. "It's hot in here."

"No kidding."

"You think you can ask Weaver to see about the air conditioning?"

"I'll see what I can do," he offers. "You in a trauma?"

I nod. "Yup. I'll see you later," I say, and he nods back, smile fading.

My smile vanishes too as I re-enter the trauma room, seeing only Chuny and Chen left in here now, but one glance through the doors tells me where Carter- John, sorry- has gone.

"He stable?" I ask, and Chen looks up.

"Yep," she nods. "He isn't, though," she says sadly, pointing through the door, where Susan and Carter are busily working. "It's boiling in here," she says, echoing both me and the whiney patient.

"I just said that to Luka," I say. "He said he'd talk to Weaver."

Chen sighs. "Well, he better do it soon, before I faint from this heat wave. How did it get so hot so quickly?" she asks, fanning herself with the chart she was holding.

I shrug. "Page me if you need me," I say, and she nods, as I back out of the room.

I pass Luka again, smiling briefly at him as he walks past me into trauma two, where distressed yells and beeps sound for a second before the door swings shut.

I try not to worry about Luka anymore, but it's a little impossible with everything I've seen him go through. His life seems to have fallen apart, and I can't help thinking that it's my fault. I know he wouldn't want me to think that; but yet, maybe that's why I do. He cares for me, I know, still. I care for him too, I guess. I'm not really sure.

Drink may be a dangerous thing. Hell, I know that. But sometimes it breaks barriers; breaks inhibitions. Luka might not remember, but I do. Hell, do I.

He said I don't seem happy. Maybe I don't. I've never been one for showing my emotions on my sleeve. I can put up a front that looks totally different to what I feel inside. So maybe I don't seem happy, but maybe I am.

Or maybe, he knows me too well, so well he can see beyond whatever façade I have up, and see what I really feel.

I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I didn't know how to deal with my brother, or my mother, or Richard, or Luka… the list is endless. The world spins, and it's as if it's going too fast for me to keep up with. People change. Maybe they change too fast for me to keep up with.

Maybe life is too complicated to keep up with.

Maybe my life sucks.

Maybe I'm not as happy as I thought.

* * *

It's midnight. Dark in my apartment, as I crept silently from the bedroom, leaving a snoring Carter- John; shit, I did it again- behind on the bed, sheets folded over him, his shirt moving slightly in the breeze from the window, set ajar.

I walk into the kitchen, picking a glass from the shelf and pouring water into it from the tap. I take a sip. It's cold. Cold as ice. Which is how water is supposed to be, no?

I glance back at the bedroom, John's snores still emanating from it, and ponder going back; but my tired brain decides I need to sit without him. Even his presence intrudes on my thoughts. I just wanted to relax, silent in the middle of the night, and sip at my water, enjoying the cool sensation as it trickles down my throat.

The window in the living room is slightly ajar too, the heat too much for this building's feeble air conditioning to deal with. I walk over to it, pushing back the curtains so I can look out down the street.

It's deserted. A lamp at the end of it flickers, momentarily distracting my attention, but one more quick look and I see that there's nothing to see. I let the curtains fall back into place and wonder over to the sofa, quietly resting myself upon it, letting my back fall into the cushions.

I take another sip from my glass and let the liquid swirl around. I watch it; it's almost like a tornado. A tiny tornado, in a crystal clear glass, ready to break loose and wreck havoc.

But then, its just water. I down the rest of it in one go, and walk over to the kitchen to refill the glass.

As I let the tap drip water into my glass, the bottle of wine Carter was drinking from last night catches my eye. He teased me while he drank, and I laughed; but now, it didn't seem so funny. Alcohol, just sitting there, on my table, in my apartment. Unfinished.

I didn't want it. It was just Carter's teasing, and my natural lapse to give in. But I didn't want it.

I looked down. My hand was reaching out toward it. I stared at myself. It froze, fingers millimeters away from the bottle. My breath caught in my throat. My whole body had frozen; silent, in the middle of the night.

I let my breath go, and my whole body swung into movement again. I turned away, but my head swung back as I heard the smash of glass behind me.

A muffled groan sounded through the bedroom door, and I knew that Carter was waking. I didn't want him to see this. I scrambled to the ground, shoving the pieces of glass under the table quickly, and standing just in front of the puddle of wine.

"What's going on?" he asks, standing against the doorframe. "Why are you up?"

I take a deep breath, trying to disguise my exhalation by coughing. "I was just getting a glass of water," I answer, hoping my voice sounds natural.

He rubs his eyes, his shirt hanging loosely over his pants. "Okay, well, come back to bed, okay?" he says, smiling; and I nod, not moving.

"I'll be back in a minute," I reply, and he disappears back into the bedroom, leaving the door as it was.

I grab a cloth from a cupboard and mop up the mess, blushing slightly at my moment of weakness. I gather the pieces of glass from under the table, and wrap them in three paper towels before throwing them into the trashcan. I refill the glass I had dropped in the commotion, and slowly walk back to the bedroom, putting my front of happiness back up.

Maybe it was for his benefit; maybe it was for mine.


	2. Luka: Edges Of The Rays

**A/N:** _Gracias to reviewers, and I hope you'll do so again, whether this remains good or not. I've tried my best to get inside Luka's head, and I hope I've done well. Don't hesitate to tell me if I haven't. I was originally going to put a Carter chapter up first, but I felt the events of that chapter needed this chapter to explain it all better. Thus, we have Luka. Carter coming soon, if I continue._

_Note: This fic might be Luby, it might be Carby, it might be both, it might be neither. No one knows. Except me, of course. But that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you…_

_Oh, and thanks to **NaomiP** for pointing out my mistake… shall be fixed along with this update. And I hope this satisfies you in that it actually has some story. ;-)_

* * *

WHAT CAME BEFORE

Luka: Edges Of The Rays

* * *

It's not light. Not quite. The sun is gradually rising, but you can't see where it is, with only the vibrant edges of the rays showing above the city landscape. The very top of the sky is still dark, still night. You could fly upward and be back at midnight; but you'd be in the air, where birds would fly and clouds would float.

The air is dirty. To my eyes, the air is murky, almost black. Nothing compared to air in Croatia. I don't really remember that, though. I only remember that on summer days, with the sun high in the sky, it shone clearly through the air, reflecting off the perfect lakes like they were mirrors. Smooth, glorious, beautiful mirrors.

Sometimes, I miss home. I miss it when I'm alone, and when I'm surrounded by people. I miss it when I hear someone speak Croatian, or when I hear news of the Balkans on my wide-screen television. I miss just being there, standing outside our apartment building, just looking out at the roads in the morning, the early morning rush nothing compared to what it was in Chicago. I miss waking up next to Danijela, with the excited sounds of my daughter in her bedroom, or the loud screams of my baby son in the corner of the room.

I sometimes wonder what I would feel like if I didn't miss it. I wondered if I would any happier than I am now.

Happy. I haven't been that in a long, long time.

I had it with Abby. For a while. Then I fucked it all up. And it was all my fault. Every bit of it.

And now, she's with Carter. Carter's great. Carter saves lives. Carter gets the girl. Carter's rich. Carter's successful. Carter has everything I don't.

There he is now. I smile at him, the quickest, briefest of smiles, but he spots it, and returns it, as he walks through the doors into the hospital, pushing his bag strap up onto his shoulder as the doors steam shut again.

I should get back inside. It's cold outside. I rub my hands together and blow on them, rubbing them together again. It's not like they'll catch on fire or anything, though, is it?

I walk back in, glancing through the door to the doctor's lounge where I see Carter putting his coat into his locker, swinging his lab coat on and slamming his locker shut. I walk over to admit, grabbing three charts near me on the rack and looking down at what I picked. Gout; swollen ankle; and a vomiting little old lady. Aren't I the lucky one?

"Kovac, Weaver's on the hunt for you," I hear Frank say, and look around at him.

I frown, and he senses me looking at him and glances at me. "What've I done now?"

He shrugs. "Killed anyone?" he suggests, turning back to his computer. I roll my eyes, and make my way toward the bed where the girl with the swollen ankle lies.

She looks up at me, looking scared, and in pain. I smile, trying my best to ease her feelings. "Hi, I'm Dr. Kovac."

She smiles. "Valerie."

"What seems to be the problem?" I ask, easing into conversation with her.

"I slipped in hockey practice and twisted my ankle. It hurts," she said, avoiding my gaze nervously as she pointing to her ankle, obviously swollen.

"Okay, well, we're going to need to take a cultures, and make sure it's not infected, and maybe give you something for the pain," I say, and she smiles.

"Thanks," she says.

I smile down at her. "No problem. A nurse will be over soon, okay?" I say, and she nods.

I look down at the next chart in my hand and walk across the room toward the trauma rooms, stopping at the bed right next to trauma one, where I could see Carter and Chen already busily working. Carter, the one who saves all the lives.

Whereas I just ruin them. And the one I ruined the best, was, ironically… my own.

* * *

"Luka!"

I hear Kerry's yell and I turn, knowing trying to get away would be futile. Her expression, to my surprise, doesn't hold anger, or disgust… if anything, I see compassion in her eyes. But maybe I'm just seeing things.

"Yeah?" I say, trying to sound casual.

She looks around, and sees Frank listening from admit. She shoots a glare at him, and he moves away, but she moves me towards the lounge anyway.

"Luka… I've noticed- we've all noticed- that you've been a little off lately, especially with the Harkins situation," she says, seeming rather cautious.

"What do you want, Kerry?" I ask, interrupting.

She stares at me. "Well, if you wanted to, you're more than welcome to take some time off," she says.

I stare back. She wants me to take time off, when work is the only thing that seems capable of keeping me remotely like myself. I don't like what I've become, but working lets me hold on to at least a part of what I am.

"You want me to take time off?" I echo.

"Just for a little while… I think you need it," she says, her weak smile flickering.

I frown at her. "I'm fine, Kerry," I say. Fine. Always fine.

She sighs. "Luka, please. If you don't take some time and sort yourself out, you're going to start endangering the patients! I mean, you already did with Rick Kendrick, but you have a chance. I'm giving you a chance to sort yourself out. I don't want you gone, but I can't let you carry on this way. Take a week off, sort yourself out, and we'll talk, okay?" she says, and hobbles out, her crutch pounding against the floor.

I turn. "Kerry-"

"I don't want to hear it, Luka. You're taking time off. Go home!" she shouts, and the door swings shut.

I found my head was throbbing. I sat down on the couch that lay in this lounge, alone. It squeaked slightly, but it was soft, and I sank into it, closing my eyes as it buckled beneath my weight. But it was still soft, and I could lie against it forever, if they let me.

I knew they wouldn't.

But I didn't know who they are.

I hear someone, someone enter the room, the noise coming from the ER entering and leaving my ears within just a few seconds. The doors swings shut again, and I hear a locker being opened, and someone softly humming a tune. I'm guessing they haven't realized I'm here yet, whoever they might be.

Sure enough, the locker slams shut and the humming stops, and all is quiet, just for a moment.

"Are you alright?"

It's her. Her honeyed voice softly taps out genuine concern, and I hear her shoes as she walks nearer, and the couch squeak as she takes her place next to me. Only, she didn't want that place anymore.

"I'm fine," I lie, not opening my eyes. "You should get back to work," I say, but she doesn't make any sounds of movement.

"If you're okay, why won't you look at me?" she asks, and I hear the brilliant defiance in her voice that I remembered so well.

I open my eyes and glance at her, seeing her eyes, her sparkling eyes, look down at my slumped form. Then I close my eyes again. "Happy?"

"No," she replied, and suddenly her warm fingers are on my eyelids, pulling them upward so I was looking up at the dirty ceiling.

I swat her hands away, my breath catching in my throat for a second as my fingers gaze hers. But she doesn't notice. She never does.

"Fine," I say, sitting up and turning my body so it faced her, and she smiled. She sweet smile made all the more special by the fact that it rarely appeared. I hoped I was the one who'd seen it most, though. "Happy now?" I ask.

"No," she repeats. "Luka, are you okay?"

"You already asked me that, and I said I was fine," I said, firmly. I wasn't sure exactly what she wanted, but at least she was finally giving me the time of day.

"You don't seem fine, or you wouldn't be lying in here with your eyes closed," she replied, frowning.

"Cut to the chase, Abby," I interrupt, not wanting her to turn her back, but testing if she would. "What do you want?"

She sighs. "You seem to have been rather… depressed, lately," she says, finally.

"You're right. I am. I'm sleeping with millions of women when the only one I really want is you."

"What do you mean?"

Sighing again, she pulls her feet up onto the couch and squats next to me. "Luka… you slept with Chuny, you slept with someone's wife, and word is you've been seen around with a hooker," she says, staring at me.

I stare at her. "That's all gossip," I dismiss, but she snorts.

"Please, Luka, everyone knows what a mess you've got yourself into! I don't like seeing you like this," she says, her face pained.

"Then don't. Come back, and make me how I should be. How I was with you."

"I'm fine," I insist.

She sighs yet again, her gaze unmoving from my face. She's nearer to me than I remember; so close, I could touch her lips within one second, and feel exactly how I longed to feel right at that moment.

"Luka…"

"Look, what brought this on? Why do you suddenly want to talk now?"

She frowns at me. "Luka, you're my friend, and I still care about you. Or am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"It just seems a little weird that you want to talk now. I mean, shouldn't you be spending time with Carter?"

She smiles gently, and I feel her soft skin on my hand, and I freeze. "I'm sure he won't mind if I spend one evening with a friend," she says. I nod, although I don't believe it. She smiles, wider. "So it's okay?" she asks.

"It's okay," I reply.

"Okay, well, I'm free… two days from now, what do you say we go out then?" she asks. I nod, and she smiles, and takes her legs off the couch, standing. "We'll sort it out tomorrow, then, 'cause I've got to get back to work," she says, and I nod again, still not trusting myself to say anything.

I watch her leave, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she looks back again with a smile. My heart is thumping in my chest. I don't understand why she suddenly seems to care. Maybe she did, but I was too stupid to notice.


	3. Carter: Tinged With Black

**A/N:** _Hmm. No interest, apparently. Not surprising. I'll probably discontinue this if I still get squat reaction, but, since this was already all written, I figured I'd throw it out there. [shrug]_

* * *

WHAT CAME BEFORE

Carter: Tinged With Black

* * *

Midday. The sun is high in the sky, and I watch it, as it vanishes for a moment behind a sparse cloud, then emerges, rays erupting from it like a volcano exploding. It's as bright as larva, too. Orange. Tinged with black, black from the ground. Black from pollution.

I look at her, gazing at her blonde hair resting gently over her shoulders. It frames her face perfectly, touching her cheek softly as she gazed out at the sky, as I did.

I let my arm take control of it's self, and it propels my hand forward, softly grazing her cheek, hair tickling the back of it. She looks at me, a slight smile on her face, which she cocks as she looks around.

"What are you doing?" she whispers, but I don't answer. I just stare at her, bewitched by her deep, glorious eyes. Being bewitched isn't something you can understand properly until you have been, and even after you have, you can't describe the intense feeling of it. You just know what it is, when it is.

She's still smiling at me, a slightly bemused smile that makes her face even more adorable. I'd use the word infatuation, but it's more than that. It's love. I have no fear in admitting that. Susan knows. Maybe Abby knows. But does it matter?

Well, yes. It does. Because I love Abby, and I want her to love me. Love me like I love her. Love me like 'think about her twenty-three hours a day and spend the other hour thinking about how insane I am for thinking about her for that long' love.

I haven't told her this. For one, I know if I do, she might run, because she's not ready. She has one of the most difficult families I've ever heard of, and she has to cope with them; and me saying something like that before she's even ready might scare her.

So I keep quiet. Close my lip. Close my lips and press them against hers, hoping that pressing them together will bring me everything I want.

Maybe it will. One day, maybe it will.

I break away again and watch her face, seeing her mouth gulp, almost like a goldfish, as her lips taste oxygen again, and I smile. She slowly opens her eyes again, and looks up at me.

"Oh," she says, and I laugh. It's a shaky laugh, because I still wonder if her reaction is good. Abby is unpredictable. Something you think is easy to know can be so confusing when it's not, and sometimes, the other way around. But my heart calms when she smiles, giggling herself. "John, you know you should really save that stuff for when there _isn't_ a toothless guy staring at us from inside," she says, laughing as she points behind her through a window into the hospital.

I roll my eyes and kiss her again, breaking away again as the ambulance arrives, and we walk over to it, letting our hands come apart as the doors open and the gurney comes out.

"What've we got?" I ask, and the paramedics look up at me, hurriedly wheeling the patient through the doors.

"45 year old male, GSW to the right chest, BP 60 over 100, resps 20, stats 80%," one reels off, and Luka had joined us, briefly glancing at Abby, who doesn't look back. "A friend found him lying in the alley outside of his house, but we don't know what happened," supplements the guy, as we enter trauma two.

I sigh, and take hold of the edge of the gurney, gesturing to Abby, Luka and Haleh to do the same. "Okay, on my count. 1, 2, 3!" We heave it onto the bed, quickly releasing the edges as the paramedics rush out again. Luka already has his stethoscope at the guy's chest, carefully listening.

"Decreased breath sounds," he says, as I look down at the wound, obvious in the guy's side. "We need to intubate," he adds, grabbing the tube Haleh hands him.

"Need any help?" says a voice, and we look around, seeing Deb's head at the door.

I consider, then nod. "Yeah, you can take my place," I say, and she moves in, frowning. "I have about ten patients waiting for me," I explain, and leave, glancing at Abby before I'm out of sight of the door. I point at my watch, and she nods, smiling, confirming she can still make our dinner.

I slow down as I make my way down the corridors, almost forgetting where I'm going as I fall into thought. Thoughts about Abby; about Abby and me; about me and Abby, and everything.

There's a lot of everything when it comes to Abby.

* * *

My finger spins around the edge of the glass, making that strange echo sound that amuses most people I know, except maybe my family and their higher echelons of friends. Abby smiles at me, her blonde hair resting over exposed shoulders, her black dress hugging her hips below the table. My other hand strokes hers over the table as we wait for the waiter to return with the desserts we ordered about ten minutes ago.

She giggles, watching my hand rotate. "You know," she says, cocking her head again, "that's kind of annoying after a while."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling back. "Yeah?" I say, and move my finger faster, making the sound more high pitched, and she winces.

"Okay, I get it!" she says, louder, but still not loud enough to disturb any of the other tables nearby. "I wish those desserts would hurry up, so you can use your hands to eat that and choke yourself," she says, laughing.

"Thanks," I say with heavy sarcasm, but grinning back. It's almost impossible to believe that this is the same Abby that fights with her mother, or cries for her brother. That this, funny, witty, beautiful woman sitting opposite me is the same as the one that cried in my arms just a few days, weeks, months ago.

People are like that. They can have two totally different sides to them; seeming like the other self doesn't even exist. Kind of like how serial killers aren't always caught. They can hide the evil personality, put up the good, sweet, convincing one, and no one will ever know.

But eventually, always, the overwhelming bad side becomes too much to handle, and the good side breaks, letting the bad side flow freely, for everyone to see and know.

Abby's not a serial killer. That's just an analogy. But she has two sides, too, and I can't help thinking that the sad one will eventually ruin the happy one I see in front of me.

But it's hard. She never seems to want to talk. When you want to, she doesn't; and when she wants to, you can't.

"Abby," I say, and she looks up, putting down her almost empty glass of water. "Are you okay?"

She frowns at me, but her smile stays in place. Almost as though she's fixed it in place, just for tonight. Just for me. "I'm fine," she says, smiling, but looking concerned. "Are you?" she asks, taking another sip.

I feel like replying immediately, but I consider the question, wondering if I'd actually describe my mood as fine.

I was with Abby, the woman I'd loved from afar for about a year, maybe even two; then finally been with, finally. And despite all that was happening with her family, we were moving forward. So yes, in short, I suppose I was fine.

I nod at her. "Yep," I say simply, smiling at her. "You know why?" I ask her.

She snorts. "Let me guess," she says, still with a slightly cocked head, and a knowing smile on her face. "You're happy because… you're with me!" she says, and I laugh.

"Damn, I forgot how intuitive woman always are," I joke, and she laughs more, smiling as she finishes the water in her glass, and puts it softly down on the table.

"So, where are we headed after this?" she asks, still smiling.

I shrug. "Wherever you wanna go, babe," I say huskily, making her giggle again.

"That voice doesn't really work for you, Carter," she says, through a fit of giggles.

"Should I try another one?" I ask, grinning.

"Definitely not," she says, still laughing. When she finally stopped, her smile remained, and she leant forward. "I meant, are we going to yours, or to mine?" she asks, quietly.

"Yours," I reply immediately.

"Are you sure?" she asks, frowning slightly. "I mean, yours is bigger…"

"And yours is smaller."

"So…"

"So, I'd rather go there. And you asked me. So, ergo… I get to choose."

"Hey, that's not quite what I meant-"

"Well, sorry, too late now!" I exclaim, grinning at her.

She hits me lightly on the arm, but is still smiling. "Fine. Your stuff's still there from last night," she says coyly

I smile, laughing internally at her. "Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?"

She starts to nod, but then her smile finally fades as she comes to an apparent realization. "Oh, John, I can't," she says, looking at me apologetically. "I promised a friend I'd have dinner with them," she said, absently playing with the fork that lay waiting for her dessert.

"Who?" I ask, not caring all that much, but asking out of plain curiosity. Her answer, however, surprises me.

"Luka," she says, not looking at me.

"Luka," I echo.

"John, you must have noticed him recently," she says, rather hurriedly. "I'm just going to talk to him, see if I can make him feel any better. He's still my friend, you know," she says, still not looking up.

"It's fine," I lie, and she looks up sharply.

"Really?"

"Really," I say, taking my turn to play with the cutlery.

She frowns at me. "So… you don't have a problem with me going out to dinner with my ex-boyfriend who crashed a car just a few weeks ago, and has taken to seeing various women without caring?"

I grit my teeth, inhaling. "No."

She looks surprised, and sighs. "Well, great," she says, rather flatly.

"Look, he's a good guy, Abby. So no, I have no problem," I say, not wanting her to think I'm jealous. Which I'm not.

She smiles, apparently happy with what I've said. "So it's okay?"

"It's okay," I echo. "I'm sure he could use someone like you to talk to right now."

"Have you got anything else to do?" she asks.

"No, but that's okay… I'll just watch a movie or something," I shrug.

She sighs. "Carter… I'd stay with you, but he really needs me to talk to him right now. I owe it to him," she says.

"You owe it to him?" I repeat, frowning. She doesn't owe him a dime.

She stares at me. "I know it's not my fault, Carter, but that doesn't stop me thinking that it was me that made him go like this," she says, running her finger over the tablecloth.

"Abby, you didn't do anything wrong, and you certainly don't owe him anything," I say. I can hear something rising in my words, making them sound more powerful, more distressed, but I don't really care. I don't hate Luka, but he shouldn't be making her feel like it's her fault. If anyone crapped up Luka's life, it's Luka.

"I owe him my friendship," she says. "Carter, what's wrong?" she asks, obviously seeing something in my face, in my eyes.

"Nothing," I say, holding my breath for a moment. "I hope you enjoy tomorrow," I say, looking away.

"Carter, I-"

"Abby, nothing's wrong, for god's sake!" I shout, and a few people look around.

"Yeah, I believe that," she says scornfully. "You have a problem with me going out with Luka. Well, Carter, you know what? I don't care. He's my friend. And I'm not going to abandon him, when he needs me, just because of your stupid jealousy," she snaps, glaring at me.

I feel regretful now, looking at her angry eyes, but I can't think of anything to say.

"I'm-"

"Sorry," she interjects, her tone still scornful. "I know."

At that moment, the desserts finally arrive, and with a mumbled apology, the waiter puts the bill and standard mints down before me and hurries off. Abby glares at me again before sticking her fork into her piece of chocolate cake, stuffing in her mouth while avoiding my gaze.

"Abby, please," I say, and she looks up at me.

"What? What, Carter? Are you going to tell me that you're not jealous? That you're not upset? That you're not at all bothered by me going out with Luka? Because that's crap, and I don't want to hear it. He's just a friend, John! A friend that happens to be male, and that my relationship with wasn't totally destroyed after we broke up. I'm with you, John. Not him. But if you don't trust me…"

"No, I trust you. But I waited for so long to be with you, and I don't want you taken away," I admit, finally finding a voice to say what I feel. I sense, I know, that she's fed up of concealing things, and I realize I am too. Honesty isn't always the best policy, but it seems to be a damn good one here.

Her look softens, and she smiles again, more gently, more genuine that her earlier smile. "John… I'm not going to be taken away. You think Luka would do that? He's not like that, John. He doesn't want to take me away from you."

"After all the time I waited for you, it's hard not to think you'll just be gone again, before I even have a chance to blink."

She rubs my hand, smiling. "You don't have to worry about that, John. You and me… well, it's working right now, isn't it?" she says, her eyes sparkling.


End file.
